


Waking Hours

by Anonymous



Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Consensual Somnophilia, Established Relationship, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-22
Updated: 2019-02-22
Packaged: 2019-11-03 18:22:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17882894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: What to do to pass the time when you're a demonic being who doesn't need to sleep?





	Waking Hours

**Author's Note:**

> This is honestly just shameless smut so have fun, guys

Wilson slept soundly with his arms wrapped loosely around Maxwell’s chest. Small huffs of air warmed Maxwell’s neck, and he idly stoked Wilson’s errant curls. Wilson’s weight was solid and comforting, and pinned him well and truly to their shared fur mat. Wilson had been sleeping for a while. A long while. Maxwell was bored out of his mind.  
  
Being that he didn’t need sleep, Maxwell often entertained himself in various ways while his other half wasted countless hours sawing logs. Most times it was of minor inconvenience—sometimes even an endearing pastime to watch him sleep. This time was neither of those since he could either suffer interminable boredom and stiff joints at being stuck in this position, or he could have to bother with a disgruntled Wilson if he made him move. Past experience had proven that Wilson much preferred their shared body heat while he slept, and would most certainly sulk if Maxwell forced him away. A sulking Wilson was almost as insufferable as being trapped in their current arrangement until sunrise. Neither were agreeable.  
  
Maxwell sighed and continued to stroke Wilson’s hair fondly. Wilson mirrored his sigh, much more contentedly, and snuggled under Maxwell’s chin. His sleepy, uncoordinated hands pet Maxwell’s sides in reciprocation, and Maxwell had to quickly stifle a laugh. He couldn’t just accept affection without returning it, even in his sleep. Absurd little man. Maxwell wrapped his arms around Wilson’s back and held him unabashedly close. If he was really going to be stuck here for the rest of the night, he might as well make the most of it.  
  
Now there was a thought.  
  
Continuing with his gentle stroking, Maxwell’s hands roved across Wilson’s back, smoothing out wrinkles in his vest and earning himself sighs of appreciation. Emboldened, he let his hands wander further, lifting the bottom of Wilson’s shirts and grazing his fingers along the soft skin bared to him, grateful for his friction-warmed fingers. Wilson happily slept on. Maxwell moved downward.  
  
Giddy pride filled his chest—in the same gleeful way that the cat boasts upon catching the canary—for his hands to firmly clutch Wilson’s rear. He kept his touch purposeful, but soft, and allowed his fingers to pet his buttocks, his sides, and perhaps, just a few times, between those invitingly parted thighs. Maybe more than a few. Wilson’s sighs deepened, heavy against Maxwell’s skin. Maxwell pressed against Wilson’s backside, causing him to cant his hips soundly into Maxwell’s stomach. The noise Wilson made this time was a heady moan, to Maxwell’s utter delight.  
  
It also, regrettably, woke him up.  
  
“Ma-Maxwell?” Wilson blearily asked. He didn’t even lift his head, the lazy sod. Maxwell, without hint of subtlety, drew his long fingers along the inseam of Wilson’s trousers and cupped his bollocks through them. Wilson squeaked and thumped him on the chest, but Maxwell did not remove his hand. While the one hand was occupied, Maxwell brought the other back up to twine though Wilson’s hair, as he had done before.  
  
“Good of you to finally join me,” Maxwell said. Wilson shifted, just enough so he could lay his chin on Maxwell’s chest, and also just enough that he could give a short, abortive thrust of his hips. Maxwell knew the grin he sported was wicked, though Wilson wouldn’t even deign to open his eyes to acknowledge it.  
  
“Nng, _stars!_ I’m too—I’m too tired for this right now,” Wilson complained—entirely unconvincingly as he laid compliantly still while Maxwell continued his ministrations, and even lazily arched his back to encourage them.  
  
“Then go back to sleep,” Maxwell drawled, and tenderly pet Wilson’s head while the other hand did something similar, elsewhere.  
  
Wilson finally peeked his eyes open. His face was rosily flushed, but he was smiling. And Maxwell worked to keep a besotted look from crossing his own features in response.  
  
“Is that what you want, you devil?” Wilson crooned. “To have your way with me while I sleep?” Maxwell hesitated, confidence locked behind the sudden lump in his throat. He couldn’t have Wilson thinking that he would do anything against his will. Maybe at one time he would have, back when he sat on the throne and could take whatever he wanted; yet, even then, he didn't do something so crass as take advantage of a sleeping man. Maxwell might have gotten ahead of himself, but if Wilson wanted to stop—those fears were swiftly banished by a coy curl of Wilson’s lips, and the deliberate closing of his eyes. “Then you best be sure not to wake me again.”  
  
Maxwell swallowed thickly. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” he assured. Wilson gave a halfhearted chuckle at the pun, the truest sign of his exhaustion, and settled. Maxwell kept his caresses steady until Wilson’s breathing deepened and the tight knot of emotion in his chest dissipated. Then he set to work.  
  
First, he returned his attentions back to his original destination and ran his palm in a sinful circle of arse cheek, outer thigh, inner thigh, only teasingly brushing bollocks, and back again. He took care to ensure that Wilson’s breathing remained even each time. Every pass over that heated space made Maxwell loathe the barrier of fabric between them more and more. He wanted to be able to feel that hot skin against him—against his fingertips where they roamed, and against his belly where the evidence of Wilson’s arousal pressed against him. If he found the notion of being still maddening before, it had only increased tenfold, since. He blindly thrust his own hips up, and in the same motion slipped his hand beneath the hem of Wilson’s pants. Wilson’s sleepy keen broke his restraint.  
  
With as much gentleness as he could evoke, Maxwell wrapped his arms around Wilson and rolled them. He cradled Wilson’s head and laid him back, head lolling to the side, pliantly accepting of wherever Maxwell arranged him. Maxwell stared at his pink lips and bared neck. Something heady, like power, washed over him at the sight of Wilson so vulnerable—no, so _trusting_. Maxwell could do anything to him in this moment, and Wilson knew that and willingly allowed it. No hidden motives or manipulations necessary. Maxwell thanked every lucky star for second chances, and stooped to kiss his throat.  
  
He left kisses wherever he could reach: along Wilson’s neck, across his whiskery jawline, and behind his ear. Wilson shifted under the onslaught. It might have been a bid to get closer, but Wilson’s own hand sneakily pressed against the front of his trousers, alerting Maxwell to his unsatisfied need. Maxwell pulled the hand away, shushing Wilson’s whimpered plea with a peck to those pouting lips, and set it aside. He replaced it quickly with his own.  
  
Maxwell drank in the sight of Wilson’s sleeping face going slack with pleasure while he palmed him through his trousers. Even through the material, Maxwell could feel the intense heat of him thrusting against his hand, and was drunk on the desire caused by each broken moan that followed. With one hand, Maxwell gripped Wilson’s waist, though he made no attempt to hold him down, and with the other he thumbed the head of Wilson’s cock. Wilson squirmed and gasped so prettily. Maxwell let go.  
  
A truly pitiful whine chased after his retreating hand, and Wilson thrust his hips and straining clock beseechingly to the open air. Maxwell shuddered at the wanton image and finally, with vanishing patience, took his own cock out through the front of his trousers. Already he burned and throbbed with pent desire, and they hadn’t taken off a stitch of clothing. He’d be more diligent the next time.  _Next time._ He closed his eyes and stroked himself, tight and delicious, and wished that one last lucky star might let that wish come true.  
  
But for now, he had more pressing matters to attend to.  
  
Pushing his own need aside, Maxwell bent over Wilson and settled between the sleeping man’s legs. Again, he treated himself to the sight of Wilson’s desperation. He toyed with him, winding him up further and further with delicate touches to his thighs, his arse, and only fleetingly to his imprisoned cock. He whimpered in frustration so beautifully. Maxwell wished he could listen to it for ages, but he needed to finish this before Wilson woke himself up. And he wasn’t sure how much longer he would last, himself.  
  
He lowered himself down, placatingly massaging Wilson’s straining thighs while he adjusted his own gangly limbs, and undid the poor man’s fly to allow his cock freedom. It bobbed, red and swollen with his need. He must be positively dying for having waited. Maxwell wouldn’t deny him any longer.  
  
Maxwell licked the head of him, just to hear that startled, enraptured gasp, and then enveloped the length of him in one fell swoop. Wilson cried out in ecstasy, and Maxwell made a point of earning each and every gratified moan. He hummed, hollowed his cheeks, and sucked, begging for each new noise and tremble of Wilson’s legs. He ached with need to touch himself, but Wilson was so close. He could wait—he needed more to not miss a single moment of Wilson’s little death. Wilson’s legs boxed his head, and his body began to bow back in preparation for release. Maxwell took him as deep into his mouth as he could, and swallowed.  
  
Wilson screamed and clamped his quaking knees around Maxwell’s ears. Bitter seed filled Maxwell’s mouth, and he tried to lift away, but Wilson’s hands were suddenly twisting in his hair and holding him down while he shook with each aftershock, dragging his cock wetly past Maxwell’s lips. Less surprisingly, Maxwell found he didn’t mind. His tongue tormented Wilson’s overstimulated sex until the man collapsed and slipped free of his mouth. When he pulled far enough away to catch his breath, he caught Wilson staring at him with wide, bliss-glazed eyes. Maxwell gulped.  
  
“Been awake long?” Maxwell asked, displeased with the raspiness of his own voice. Wilson didn’t seem to share his opinion, if his shudder was anything to go by. Lust and pride shot sharp through Maxwell to see his spent cock give another rueful twitch.  
  
“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Wilson said around a laugh. He lifted his arm and Maxwell took his cue to lie beside him so it could be wrapped about his shoulders, same as they had been before this all started, only reversed. Wilson kissed him hard, deeply, and Maxwell positively melted. There was mischief in those eyes when Wilson pulled back. “Pleasure yourself,” he demanded. “I want to watch you fall apart.” Maxwell didn’t have any desire to refuse him.  
  
Maxwell took himself in hand at once, muffling into Wilson’s shoulder the cry of ecstatic sensitivity that came from his neglect. Wilson hummed and soothingly rubbed Maxwell’s back—at odds with the hurriedness in which Maxwell sought to comply with his request. He pulled on his cock with fervent speed, gasping and groaning and not caring to silence himself the louder he became—knowing that Wilson loved every sound, every twitch and shiver he could bear witness to. Maxwell did his best to give his lover a show.  
  
Each pass of his fist revealed the slick glands of his cock, which he circled and put on vulgar display. He alternated between strokes that made his knees shake and fucking his own hand. The thrusts of his hips pushed his cock through his fist to teasingly brush against Wilson's trouser leg and his expended cock, leaving behind gleaming white strands. Wilson’s breath hitched appreciatively and he gripped Maxwell tight. It was all that it took for him to reach his peak.  
  
Wilson held him and they both watched Maxwell’s hand wring the last indolent strings of pleasure from cock. When the waves at last receded, Maxwell gave a deep, satisfied moan into Wilson's shoulder. Wilson pulled him closer still, not caring about the mess between them, and clung to him like a limpet. Maxwell held him back just as strongly, chest heaving, and grinned.  
  
This might just be his new favorite way to spend the night.


End file.
